You’re Living in the Part of Homeschool That You’ll Miss

Letter to the anxious mom,

I’m writing to you from the future.

I’ve figured out how to reach you while your hair is still dark, your jeans still fit the way your driver’s license claims they do, and your babies still climb into your lap without asking.

I know what you’re hoping for.

I know you’re picturing the day they read fluently… write clearly… solve problems that make you proud.
They will.

I know you dream about bikes, first jobs, independence, confidence.
They will.

I know you want to know—deep down—that this homeschool life is actually preparing them for real life.
It is.

But can I whisper something to you?

Something I didn’t understand yet when I was standing exactly where you are?

Your kids will read.

They will write.

One day, you’ll hear them explain ideas you never taught directly—connecting thoughts, asking thoughtful questions, noticing patterns, and seeing the world with depth and understanding.

In due season, they will come to understand the vastness of the Lord’s creation—not because you rushed them there, but because you gave them time to grow into it.

We can’t go back.

And right now?

You’re living in the years you’ll miss the most.

This moment—the sticky hands, the endless questions, the interruptions, the noise, the mess, the exhaustion—
this is the part you will ache to return to.

And you won’t be able to.

So let’s slow down and get a few things right.

Hold them.
Cuddle them.
Enjoy them while they are still cuddle-able.

Tickle them.
Dance with them.
Sing loudly and off-key.
Say yes more often than feels efficient.

Before academics ever mattered… bodies did.

Before pencils, worksheets, or proper grip—
their hands needed texture.

Mud.
Dough.
Sand.
Water.
Sticks.
Clay.
Lego bricks.
Pom-poms.
Snow.
Bread dough on the counter.

Those weren’t distractions.

They were building brains.

Before rules and rigor… imagination mattered.

Stories about dragons and heroes.
Fairy tales.
Space adventures.
Make-believe worlds.

Not because it was cute.

But because imagination is where courage is rehearsed.
Where problem-solving is born.
Where creativity takes root.

Before performance… character mattered.

Patience.
Kindness.
Grit.
Self-control.

Learning how to wait.
How to help.
How to belong to a family team.

Those things didn’t compete with education.

They powered it.

LLook around with wonder.
Talk about what you see.

But more importantly… listen.

What do they notice?
What do they hear?
What do they feel, smell, taste?

Ask open-ended questions.
Then wait.

Really wait.

Count to 100 if you need to.

Their brain is working.
It’s worth the pause.

Teach them to wait too.
Teach them teamwork.
Teach them how to sit still for just a few seconds—and then a few more.

Say no when you need to.
But practice saying yes too.

Mommy, will you play with me?
Dance with me?
Sing with me?
Build with me?
Read to me?

Yes.

Include them in your real life.

Shopping.
Cleaning.
Folding.
Driving.
Calling.
Planting.
Fixing.
Resting.

Talk while you work.
Let them enjoy your company.

And don’t forget to enjoy theirs.

Praise effort.
Notice kindness.
Admire perseverance out loud.

Every single day:
Laugh.
Love.
Work.
Rest.
Read.

You have so much time ahead of you to teach letters and numbers.

Be careful not to rush past the wide-eyed wonder and love-bug cuddles because you’re afraid you’re behind.

You’re not.

Slow down.

You are already teaching.

By shaping their hearts, habits, and character now, you are preparing them for success later—far more than you realize.

And Mama… don’t forget your husband.

You are first his bride, then their mom.

The very best gift you can give your children is loving their daddy well.

Listen to his vision.
Walk with him.
Smile when it’s hard.

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Let me show you your future.

Your kids read beautifully.
They write clearly.
They communicate with confidence.

They are capable, curious, and genuinely delightful to be around.

You’ll know exactly which of those things matters most.

You kept the Lord at the center.
You honored their father.
You homeschooled them first in character—and then in academics.

Oh, there were doubts.

They talked late.
They read late.
They looked behind their peers.

Until they weren’t.

There came a moment when they quietly leapt ahead—not because of worksheets or pressure, but because their character carried them.

It was an unfair advantage.

You protected their childhood.
You kept life simple.
You let things be “boring.”

They played outside.
They worked as a team.

And now?

Three are in college.
One is in high school.
One is almost there.

And your heart is full.

To my younger self—and to the mom reading this right now—

Don’t worry about “education” just yet.

Let them play while you work beside them.
Read aloud every single day.
(Yes, audiobooks count.)

When you’re tempted to push pencils—wait.
Use clay.
Paint.
Mud.
Sidewalk chalk.

When you’re tempted to buy curriculum—wait.
Trust your gut.

Remember what actually matters.

Scripture before everything.
Strong math foundations by graduation—not early mastery.
Clear communication—spoken and written.
A life steeped in literature, stories, words.

And let me tell you something you’re going to worry about far more than you should.

One of your boys won’t read when everyone else does.

You’ll second-guess yourself.
You’ll wonder if you waited too long.
You’ll feel that quiet, lonely panic no one talks about.

And then—years later—you’ll watch him bloom into comprehension, creativity, and depth that cannot be taught.

Not because you pushed harder.

But because his childhood was soaked in story.

Words watered his soul long before he decoded them.

And it gave him an advantage you couldn’t see at the time.

So to the mom with the lump in her throat—

Slow down.

You have time.

Teach hearts first.
Read aloud daily.
Let them play longer than feels responsible.

Trust that foundations grow quietly
before they grow visibly.

With love,
Your older, grayer, deeply grateful self

P.S. The Lord knew exactly what He was doing when He saved your youngest for last.
You needed everything you learned before you got to that one.

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